Sherlock's Blue Scarf
by Truly Sherlockian
Summary: How Sherlock got his blue scarf


BLUE SCARF

Young Sherlock Holmes was sitting on the park bench at the private school. Going over the homework he was given, already working on it at recess.

The other students tended to avoid him. He was boring, and insulting. He would tell them that they were stupid, ignorant and blind all in one sentence. Then go on to tell them their relationship problems with their parents or friends. Like before, they all tended to avoid him.

But there were some kids, mainly girls that liked to hang around the 9 year old Sherlock. They saw him as attractive and aloof, hard to get. So they all ("all" being 4 or 5) tried to become the "Special One" in his eyes.

As he was pouring over the homework, trying to finish it before the end of the day so he could play Cluedo with his brother after school, a young girl came over. She was wearing a white winter jacket with a blue scarf loosely wrapped around her neck. One year younger than Sherlock, obviously. She sat down next to him and pulled out her homework. Sherlock was bent over his maths, his eyes narrowed and shifted to her, then back to his work. She started rapidly scribbling and solving all the problems.

Sherlock knew this girl, more of an enemy than a friend. Though he never really learned her name, if he did he deleted it. The teacher often accused them of doing each other's homework since their handwriting was almost exactly alike. But after several detention's and parents explaining, the two got it worked out and now all was normal.

But as Sherlock was immensely bored with doing the same problems with different variations his eyes shifted back to the girl sitting next to him. Then stared back at the problems on his sheet.

He slowly sat up and sighed irritated. "I can't figure out these problems." He sighed, pointing to some division.

"Oh." The blonde said. "I can help." She leaned over and studied what he was pointing to. "Look." She drew out the problems on her spare piece of paper. "All you got to do is count how many times 8 goes into 32. See?" She smiled up at him.

Sherlock frowned. "Not quite."

"Let's do a two more problems then." Again, she laid the problems out and explained them. "Understand now?" She chirped.

Sherlock frowned again. "Maybe one more?"

The blonde stared at him, then smiled. "You just want me to do your homework for you because you're bored, don't you?" She smirked.

"Took you long enough." Sherlock said, then half smiled back. She looked at him for a few seconds, then pulled his homework over to her lap.

"Why not? I can just copy it over to my papers. The teachers won't notice and you're the smartest one in the class anyway. Probably the whole school. You're parents must be proud-" She looked up at her side. Sherlock wasn't there anymore. She looked around. He was walking to his brother Mycroft who was talking at some younger children. She looked at the two for a while. Then finished the work. Carefully copying down to her papers as well, making sure it looked like she was doing the problems on her papers instead of his.

The next week after that, the blonde was used to doing his homework, and even going into doing some of his extra credit work. She knew she was learning stuff still, and the teachers weren't catching on. So there was no harm. She hoped that maybe she was helping Sherlock's and Mycroft relationship, since Sherlock was often flinging his lunch at Mycroft. But the more time they spent together, the more it seemed they fought. Yet Sherlock often charmed her into doing it, so she didn't argue.

One afternoon at the end of school Sherlock smiled his usual and handed her the untouched work, and she accepted as usual. Yet stowed it into her bag without looking at it. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. This was not the usual. The blonde smiled at him. "I've been dong your work for a week and a half now. It's time for you to pay me back." She crossed her arms.

"Um, well. You, you accept, so I-"

"Show me how you deduct people." She smiled. She wasn't normally one to stand up to someone and she was proud of herself for finally doing it.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Deduct? It's pretty straightforward isn't it?"

"Not at all, well, maybe to you. But to us...common, it's not. So tell me, how do you do it?" She held her hands together in front of her.

Sherlock raised himself a little higher. "I can see you've gotten some new sheets on your bed, you changed your shampoo, and you've gotten a new pet at home, maybe a rodent? You're also allergic to peanuts and you won't tell anyone, because you're embarrassed they might laugh at you're reaction when you come in contact with the food. I can also tell you like to travel and yet won't because you're family is strict in your education, which often leads to some family controversy. You spend a lot of time alone, and don't have a lot of friends to go to for advice. Am I wrong?" Sherlock said all this very quickly.

The girl stood there. Just staring. There wasn't a lot else she thought she could do. "No. No. Not wrong at all... how, how could you know all that?" She stammered.

Before Sherlock could reply his brother walked in and interrupted. "Oh, don't get him started, he'll never stop. Mycroft." The young man, slightly older than Sherlock held out his hand and smiled.

"Um, hi?" She shook his hand. "I'm interested to know. How did he guess all that?"

"I didn't guess. I observed." Sherlock corrected.

"Yes, but how?" She smiled.

"You have a small rash on your neck indicating a new-"

"Sherlock. Mummy's waiting in the office." Mycroft interrupted.

"Yes. Yes. All right. Coming." Sherlock slouched and started walking towards the principal's office. Clearly irritated he didn't get his chance to show off.

"But how did you do it?" The girl called after the two. Sherlock ignored her and continued walking away.

She couldn't concentrate quite all the way on the work. Or rather, his work. She just couldn't stop trying to figure out how he knew all that. A rash on her neck? She rubbed her hand all along her neck, yes, yes there was one. She didn't even notice. She didn't see it in the mirror this morning, or even after lunch. And the new pet? How could he have known that?

She was sure she was going to get both him and her a bad grade, but she couldn't concentrate. How could he know everything about her, then just walk away without telling her. That was a problem she was going to have to fix.

The next morning she knew Sherlock was going to need his work before classes start, so she walked up to him and handed him the work. He unconsciously reached out for it, yet as he began to grab it, it slipped out between his fingers. He looked up and the blonde had her hands on her hips. "Tell me how you knew." She said, matter-of-factly.

Sherlock checked his watch. "Not a lot of time..."

"Tell me how you knew." She repeated, more of a command than a request.

Sherlock sighed. "You have, or had, a small rash on your neck, indicating an irritation to a new fabric, the way it's marked under your hair, it's probably rubbing. The weather's been warm, so not a scarf or high neck, so pillowcase it is. Probably a new one or you wouldn't have an irritation. New sheets probably.

Your hair smells different, and it's shinier than normal, so new shampoo. You have small cuts on our fingertips, new animal. Small, so rodent probably. New otherwise it wouldn't be biting. If you've had it for a while, and it was still biting, you would've taken it back to the pet store.

I knew about the peanut allergy, because you never bring any peanuts to school, whether in sandwiches or just a mix of nuts. You obviously don't want anyone to know, shown by your habit to quickly wipe your mouth after eating, quick to wipe your hands off, and always avoiding paint on your hands. If someone mentions something on your face, you run to clean it off.

You like to travel do to your interest in foreign countries in class, and how you usually copy fashion from other countries, which indicates you read up about them often. Your parents are strict in your education, which is obvious since they sent you _here_. An expensive private school.

You never speak to your parents when they come to pick you up, and they hardly let you go on field trips.

You're usually alone on the playground, and don't talk to many people. May I have the work now?" He sighed and his eyes flicked from her to the papers crumpled in her loose fist. Though he seemed pleased he was able to show off.

"Ya-yeah..." She didn't really hand him the papers, more just raised her arm in his general direction. He took them and quickly walked of to class.

Did he really pay that much attention to her? Did he really look at her that closely? Did he really notice all that... about her? And why did she care? Still at least she was able to look forward to dissecting a dead frog. She wasn't certain why she was excited to cut open a dead body, but she was still pleased with the aspect of it.

During recess he handed her his papers, then walked off to join Mycroft talking at some younger children, again. They seemed to learn to block him out.

As Sherlock walked over one of the younger ones named Greg was holding a gun shaped stick and was playing Cops with some other kids.

"Hello... Gary." Sherlock smiled almost mockingly.

"Greg. What do you want, Sherlock?" Greg sighed. Sherlock went on about some sort of error with the way Greg was playing the game. Then tried to get Greg to join him in a game of Cluedo with Mycroft and himself.

Back at the bench the girl was staring at the papers, seeing all the unfinished problems. Was she really letting Sherlock just boss her around like that? Why should she let him? How did he do that, make her do his work without even saying anything? She sighed, and once again started on his work.

Once again, the next day he held his hand out for his work. She handed the papers over silently and began pulling out the proper books for her class. As Sherlock began smoothing out the homework for his folders, he noticed the ink for the text was slightly smeared. Like drops of water landed on it and the ink faded out. He looked up and saw the girl was crying. "Was the homework really that difficult?" He asked, failing at a joke. But the girl still lightly chuckled.

"You're going to have to find someone else to do your work. Sorry." She said.

What she said next Sherlock didn't expect. He blinked and said a simple, "Oh."

"Sorry." She said quickly, repeating herself, and started switching around her books. Then switching them back.

"No... no. It's fine. I mean, it's no really your fault. It's- It's-" He wasn't normally on to stumble. "I mean... yeah."

The girl blinked. A tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm going to class now. It—It's fine."

Sherlock stared after her. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why he cared. He was a sociopath. So why did he care she was moving? Especially in two days.

The next day the girl didn't come to school. As Sherlock would've suspected. It didn't take a genius to figure out she would have a lot of packing to do. He looked at a kid named Philip, who was flirting with some girls.

Well, maybe it did.

But he turned into himself. She _mattered_. Why? She was girl-who-did-his-work. He didn't even know her name! _He didn't know her name._ How could he not? She did his work didn't she? How could he not even know her name. Though, to be fair to himself, her name wasn't quite relevant. But he still couldn't accept the fact he didn't know her name. He was Sherlock Holmes! The smartest kid in his classes! How-

"Hello, Brother." A taller version of himself leered at him. "Thinking?"

"Mycroft!" He cheered. "Hello, dear brother!" Sherlock saw a possible answer.

Mycroft sighed. "What do you want?" He leaned over a water fountain.

"That girl who does my work..."

Mycroft wiped his mouth and raised an eyebrow. "Yes? Go on."

"I need, a name. Could you possibly look into her classes?"

"I already know it... brother. And you don't?"

"Ah. No. Could you possibly..." Sherlock rocked on his feet.

"Molly. Molly Hooper." Mycroft smiled. Sherlock made a mental note."I heard she's moving." Mycroft said. Taking another drink.

"Yes. Tomorrow." Sherlock looked at his brother suspiciously. "How did you know that? I was the first one she told." Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"I have resources. It's incredibly simple in a world of... goldfish. But back to you," Mycroft drawled. "Is it possible you... care?"

"She's gotten me spare time. Something I cherish." Sherlock replied.

"Do you have a, friend?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow again. Something he did often.

"No. She's just..." Sherlock couldn't think of a word. "A secretary." He mused.

"Be careful, Sherlock. Caring is not an advantage." The bell rang calling for class to start. "Brother." Mycroft turned and went to class.

_Molly Hooper_. Sherlock made a note. _Molly Hooper._ The name did suit her. Sherlock readjusted the pack uncomfortably weighing down on his shoulder.

After school Sherlock looked around the playground, then slowly started on his way home. Mycroft usually walked with him. Yet he was running for class government or something. Sherlock could not care less.

He heard the sound of tennis shoes hitting the pavement at a rapid speed. Concerned he was about to be ambushed he turned and looked. Then raised his brow. "Hello."

"Sherlock!" Molly panted. "I was concerned I wouldn't catch you!" She smiled, panting still. "I um, I wanted to give you some extra credit I found in the bottom of my book bag." She pulled some papers out of her white coat.

"Ah. Thank you." Sherlock said, trying to flatten the harsh creases.

"Sorry. I um, kind of smashed it." She laughed.

"No matter. So! Leaving tomorrow morning?" He pocketed the papers in his black coat.

"Yeah. A big house! It's got lots of windows. And it's a pretty blue. And tulips planted out front. Though they aren't in bloom. They should bloom soon though. I don't know why I'm telling you all this." She started twitching her fingers. "But uh, I well. Noticed your coat... and um, thought this would go well with it?" She unfolded the striped blue scarf from her neck and held it out.

"Mol-Molly. That's yours!" He said. Holding it in his gloved hands.

"You know my name!" She squeaked. "I thought you didn't notice. Not that you don't notice things. You notice a lot of things." She went silent. Just twitching.

"Um. Yeah. Thank you for the scarf." He smiled at her, then sort of wrapped the scarf around his fist and arm. Molly noticed he wasn't wearing it and stared at his fist. But chose to just ignore it. "So, um. Bye." She waved at him through a pink glove.

"Bye." He said. "And Molly." He said as she was turning to leave.

"Yeah?" She began twitching again.

"Um. Thanks."

"For what?" She smiled, quite a large smile.

"My... work. Always doing my work. And just, helping me."

"Oh. It was nothing. It didn't matter." She started giggling.

"You matter." He said. "Thank you."

She started giggling even more. Trying to control herself she just started panting. "Um. Heh, it's... okay. You can... THANKS?!" She said, a little loud. Sherlock blinked. And just kept a steady smile, with somewhat large eyes.

"Uh, bye." She turned and ran back to her house. Sherlock watched her go a little ways, then turned and started walking back to his house. Upon reflection he could've put the scarf _on,_ instead of bundling it in his fist.

Molly looked behind her. Sherlock still had the scarf in his fist. Some tears formed in her eyes as she started once again running back to her house, that wasn't quite hers anymore. She was going to miss him, and the scarf. Her brother gave that to her before going off to the army. She ran faster than she was before. She chose not to look back again.

Sherlock walked a few more feet. Then dropped his backpack and unfolded the scarf. Then neatly folded it in half once more and wrapped it tightly around his neck. He turned back as he lifted up his backpack, but Molly was already gone, she missed seeing him put it on. He knew he would never see her again.

But he was wrong.


End file.
